The Prodigal Customer (a.k.a Hair Yesterday, Gone Today)

(Warning: Long post, but I had a lot of fun writing this!)

The tremors vibrating through his entire body became more and more evident the closer he came to his final destination. It had been a whopping four hundred and eighty one days since his last visit, and he was well aware of the fact that the day of reckoning had finally arrived.

An arbit converation on gtalk, a split second decision and barely twenty minutes later, he had borrowed the keys to his sister's Honda Activa and was well on his way to get the job done. Although he did have his moments of reservation towards doing the act that he was about to undertake, the cumulative good that arose out of the act was, he was hoping, something that would provide him with greater long-term pleasure and satisfaction vis-à-vis the ephemeral accolades and not so unwanted or unwarranted attention that he received for his present condition.

His constant companion for all seasons was playing music in his ears, as he donned the helmet and began the eight kilometer journey, the melodious strains of classic rock of the yesteryears giving him apt company on his ride.

After a couple of near death experiences on the road in Mysore while on his way, he was about half a kilometer from where he was headed out for. Shaking his head with a disdainful sigh and feeling much older than his current 24+ years, he lamented to himself about the state of affairs in his city, with the pathetic road manners of Bangaloreans being transfused into the veins of Mysore motorists, as a result of which he had to endure the aforesaid near-misses in his own backyard.

His morose plight was remedied to a substantial extent by B J Thomas' 'raindrops keep falling on my head', and his lugubrious state of mind was replaced by one of mild terror, as he stopped the vehicle, turned off the ignition and removed his helmet.

The name of the place had changed from 'New Elite Hair Dressers' to simply 'Elite Hair Dressers' in the 18 months since he had been there last, and he then started wondering what else it was that had changed with time, since he last had a haircut.

Had they started using garden shears now? Did they use talcum powder that he was allergic to, that would cause him to have sneezing fits for the next one week? Did they have hot lady barbers who would provide him with a massage if he asked for one? (oil massage for the head, you perverted cretin!) Did this place also sell out like some other barber shops that he had been to, by shaving armpits of some customers that wanted the said service rendered unto them?

As his mind was overflowing to the brim with these thoughts, he had parked the vehicle and was striding purposefully towards the saloon, his long hair curled up and bouncing off his shoulders for the very last time in a long time to come, as he removed the black hairband (he'd flicked it from a good friend of his who was going to receive a whole lotta good Karma for her generous gesture) that tied them together in a neat ponytail and shook the locks loose in a manner not unlike he'd seen Perizaad Zorabian, Andie McDowell, Jennifer Connelly and Robert Plant do, either in advertisements or in movies or music videos where they were required to seduce someone.

He was sad at the thought of crossing over from their territory into one that was ruled by the likes of Pritish Nandy, the late Amrish Puri, Samuel L Jackson, Sinead O'Connor, Uma Bharathi and a whole host of liberated bra-burning crazy ass feminists (who wanted to be Amazons but were too chicken to mutilate their bosoms) but he hoped fervently that the crossover would augur well with the side he no longer played for (not Robert Plant and such, but more along the lines of Perizaad and the rest!).

With his unshaven look, and his hair, it wasn't high time before someone mistook him for Himmesh and hounded him for autographs, which was why he hadn't been wearing protective headgear even in an oppressive winter, the cold adding to his list of near-death experiences every time he ventured out from an enclosed building, and this was another situation that needed to be remedied at the earliest possible.

Just at that very moment, when he was five metres from the door of the saloon he was so purposefully striding towards, a strong gust of wind blew in the air, and for the very last time, yet again, he managed to shake his head and prevent the offending strands of hair that had grown so long near his forehead from curling up and poking him in the eyes from along the corners of the spectacles that he was wearing. His hair, like the answer, was blowing in the wind for the very last time.

"To hell with New Year's resolutions", he thought, and after having had a haircut on 31st August 2006 at the hands of an obliging friend at the basement of a service apartment block in Oslo, he finally entered the hallowed grounds of a barbershop.

As soon as he got in, the four barbers and their four customers stopped for a minute and glanced towards him, shocked at what they saw. It was a rare opportunity for the barbers to have had a Rip Van Winkle moment, and even rarer for the customers to do so themselves, and hence they savoured it and milked it for as long as it could last.

What followed next is a conversation that is best described as some sort of a dialogue between the protagonist of this piece and the people at the saloon.

Barber: Yes, what you are wanting here?

Him: Haircut, sir.

B: Oh okay. You don't come here for so long and now you want us to cut your hair, eh?

H: (feeling very much like an errant pupil being admonished by the school headmaster) Sorry, I forgot.

B: Forgot?? Forgot?? Did you forget to brush your teeth? Did you forget to take a dump? Did you forget to pay your credit card bill?? Did you forget all the good times you had at the Miami beach party during Spring break 2004 with CJ??

H: Spring Break? I'm an engineer from Mysore who works in an IT firm in Bangalore. I don't know what that means. But I do know who CJ is, I see Baywatch!

B: Idiot! Don't change subject! Be glad that we're cutting your hair, after all that you've done!

H: Please give me a haircut, I am sorry.

B: (mellowing down considerably after receiving the apology) Ok ok, come and sit in the chair. I will now proceed to cut your hair. Don't give me that contumelious stare, or I will tear up the clothes that you wear.

The barber then turned the chair around, whipped out his camera phone, and with considerable fanfare, invited the boy from the neighbouring tea stall to take a picture of all the barbers with the protagonist sitting in the chair. After the obligatory photo-op, he proceeded with his business of cutting hair, and after a span of twenty minutes, he'd finished his job, and our protagonist's head was feeling considerably lighter, literally and not from having any substances infused within his blood stream.

B: (smiling indulgently) Will you ever make the mistake of not coming here regularly?

H: (with tears of gratitude streaming down his bespectaled eyes) I am sorry for my mistake, I promise never to have hair longer than twelve centimeters on my head, unless I want my pseudo-rockstar junkie look ever again!

B: (having tears in his eyes as well) I am glad you have seen the error of your ways. (pointing to a pile of hair on the floor) See! All this hair is from your head. It is more sizeable than the amount of hair cut from all our customers all of this week!

The barber then motioned to the tea stall boy again, and as the protagonist had an overwhelming sense of déjà vu encompass him all over again, the staff of the barbershop stood around his chair for an 'after' shot.
The prodigal customer then bade the barbers of the 'Elite Hair Dressers Saloon' goodbye and went home to shock the living daylights out of his family.

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Epilogue: (Twenty eight hours later)
He slept last night with much difficulty, as the feeling of bare skin on the back of his neck getting in contact with the pillow was something he had to get used to.

He still manages to headbang to the Spice Girls and Take That, for the realization of his locks of hair having gone completely hasn't yet set in.

He shakes his head involuntarily, trying to get his hair to sit into shape, only to realize with a sigh that such an effort is no longer warranted.

Less soap, less shampoo, less bath time, less time to dry hair and family happy at not having to see a vagabond in their midst are the top five reasons (in that order) that he has listed in his diary in the pros of having had a haircut.

To list the cons, he needed a new diary altogether.

His family is surprised but shocked at this sudden turn of events. He hears them whisper behind his back about 'blood tests, committing to an instituition, mental instability' and some other such stuff that he chooses to conveniently ignore.

Lastly, the barbers of 'Elite Hair Dressers' have released a full page advertisement in a leading local daily in Mysore. It has two (very familiar) pictures with the taglines of BEFORE and AFTER listed next to them, with the caption - If we can make a baboon look so good, imagine what we can do for YOU!!!